His Secret iAir Nomad ReWrite
by LividChiclets
Summary: A re-write I did of a story by iAir Nomad, with permission of course. Revolves around music and Kataang. Please read and review, it's my first story.


_So I did a re-write of a story that I really liked by iAir Nomad, called "His Secret". The entire story line credit goes to them, not me. Also, I don't own Avatar, blah blah._

_Here's the link to the original story (I did change a few things around): .net/s/6142644/1/His_Secret_

_Tell me what you think. This is my first story on here. :)_

Music: a medium by which all forms of life are able to communicate. A way for all four elements to come together and forget their faults, mistakes, differences, pasts, and just become lost in an all-encompassing melody. Although each has their own musical style, mainly consisting of tsungi horns, woodwinds, and exotic stringed instruments, the Air Nomads were extremely well known for their undoubted skills with a piano.

With commonplace instruments, it was much more difficult for the monks to lend their slender, light fingers to constant fretting of strings, complicated hole covering of wooden whistles, or intricate pressing of horns' buttons. As a piano is laid out like a smorgasbord of every imaginable note, movements of feathery Airbender's hands can much more easily express their song.

For centuries, the monks continued to advance the piano, from a small stringed ceramic box with random trinket-sized bricks as keys to a fully sized, polished wooden grand piano, with keys like butter under their delicate fingers and the inner stringing fashioned from genuine Fire Nation metal, woven specifically for these marvelous items. Although tinkling, gregarious tunes usually occupied the whites and blacks of their pianos, other sultry and melancholy pieces were greatly romanticized and admired by Air Nomad pianists.

Despite Aang being the only other person I talked to besides my brother for over a year and having relations with him for a good three weeks, I a, still learning the basics about him.

So far, I have learned:

-Never, ever, ever be near a sneezing Airbender. Ever.

-A pillow fight with an Airbender is one you are guaranteed to lose.

-Don't ever say "miss me, miss me, now you gotta kiss me" and then try to run away. You will fail.

-Aang is a piano-playing prodigy.

While we were secretly ransacking the Fire Nation from the inside, about a month ago, we stumbled across a rustic musical theater that looked to have been untouched for eons. The small wooden stage panel looks out onto a small sitting area, with grimy chairs placed askew from their originating rows. Everything from the plush crimson curtains to the backstage mechanical equipment is coated in a thick blanket of dust. It was not until I showed Aang this tucked away haven that he immediately takes notice of a baby grand piano, lounging in a back corner of the stage, near a half-drawn end of the curtain. Although covered in decades-old grime, a quick swipe of his tattooed arms through the cool air unveils the beauty that lay beneath: thick cherry wood, mesmerizing seas of white and black teeth, solid gold pedals, and a darkly upholstered bench, inviting any pianist to take a seat.

As soon as it is fully revealed, Aang's eyes shoot out of his skull and easily cover half of his face. He seems almost magnetically drawn to its place, as if each position of the piano calls its respective body part to fill its void. Realizing this longing almost too quickly, Aang recoils and quickly spits out "yeah, it's really nice". He hastily hurries out, resisting the pull of his musical ability.

Over the course of the three weeks after defeating Fire Lord Ozai, Aang progresses to return to the theater to "check things out" on the piano. As his "check ups" become more and more frequent and prolonged, I become suspicious of his ulterior motives for regressing to this spot. How many times can one "check out" such a dingy, tacky little place?

One Tuesday afternoon when he plans to steal away to the theater, I decide on following him.

This is probably one of the worst decisions I have ever made.

The worst aspect of trying to stalk an Airbender is their ability to travel incredibly fast and light on their feet. As Aang delicately bounds through the hallway, I struggle to keep a decent speed behind him, dodging his backwards, fleeting glances and taking temporary shelter behind gargantuan pillars in the high ceiling halls.

When he finally creeps behind the thick theater door and silently slams it, I slip off my shoes right outside and crawl in through a side entrance. I steal away behind the curtain opposite to the piano and Aang.

He practically skips over to it, but the connection I sense runs deep: a longing, an authentic happiness that visibly consumes his muscular little figure as his tiny hands caress the keys. He has grown a fair bit since we began our journeys over a year ago; he is now just barely taller than me, making him level with the top of the piano. He inhales through his nose, pauses, cracks a small grin, and exhales out his mouth, sentencing the last of the accumulated dust spiraling to the floorboards. He bends the seat a few feet away from the piano, seats himself, and soundlessly slides back into a playing position. Without warning, the stuffy theater air comes alive with the sound of an airy intro, soft and delicate. Slowly, at a mezzo piano volume, he leads into a beautiful sonata to impress even the stiffest of souls. I become intoxicated with his fluid movements: how he leans into the piano, meshing seamlessly with the piece, how his soft, slender hands embrace every note with such ease, how his naked feet press and release the lower pedals at perfect intervals. This dainty melody suddenly grows with increasing crescendo into a complete masterpiece, flawlessly sewing together deeply rooted bass tones with higher octave sweeps, encasing Aang and myself in a musically induced daze. This continues as if by its own will for what can be ten minutes or ten lifetimes, when it decreases in both tempo and volume, lessening the lower notes and utilizing the highest keys in order to leave those listening with a sense of closure and an overwhelming plethora of unexplainable emotions. I fight the urge to spring up and clap wildly, for I fear embarrassing him. I want to hear more.

I sat there for what could have been the entire evening, just inhaling his music. As the strong sunlight begins to dim itself and dip lower and lower into the horizon, the room turns a beautiful pink-orange, matching the surrounding sounds fantastically. My eyelids droop as the current lullaby gently rocks my ears to sleep.

I jolt awake when I realize the melodies cease. I rub my eyes and peer around my hiding curtain, and I witness Aang silently meditating. His legs sat neatly folded, hands resting comfortably on his knees, eyes shut in concentration. The pure passion and ecstasy that now courses through his body makes his meditative state that much stronger.

Almost unwillingly, I rise up from my dwelling place and reveal my presence with a creak of an old wood panel. Fortunately, Aang takes no notice. I continue to tip toe across the antique stage, gazing out at the audience's place for a split moment. When I reach Aang, I stand a few inches behind him, wondering how he doesn't notice the looming shadow I create. He exhales for the last time before opening his eyes. All within a split second of regaining his sight, he jumps out of his skin, screams in fright, spins around, sends the bench toppling four feet away, and precisely whips me with rather large air strikes. As I soar to the ground, the wood breaks through on impact, and I become tightly wedged into the stage floor.

"What are you doing he -!"

As soon as he realizes whom he just attacked, his body becomes weak, his face softens with unforgiving guilt, and he stumbles backwards into the piano, creating an unpleasant crinkling of dissonant tones.

"Katara…" he murmurs, covering his mouth in shock, showing only his unusually large steel gray eyes that begin to cloud with tears.

I am in pain from his strike, so my tear ducts begin swimming with hot liquid.

"I'm so sorry…" I whisper as I attempt to unhinge myself from my sticking place so I may leave him alone, as it is obvious he doesn't want an audience.

He immediately rushes over to assist me, but I turn away in embarrassment. I want to free myself and flee from him – he is so intimidating when he is angry.

Now with both of us crying for separate reasons, I finally give up and let my muscles go limp and he easily air bends me out of the gaping hole he just created. I fall to the floor in exhaustion and try to escape to leave him be, but as soon as I gear up to book it out of the theater, he seizes my wrist gently and forbids me from taking another step away from him. He turns me to him, and my face is already stained over with red blotches from my guilt and shame of intruding on him. Without another word, he engulfs me in a hug.

"I am so sorry for doing that," he says delicately into my ear, voice cracking with undying guilt. "I had no intention of hurting you, or even scaring you one bit. I'm just so quick to react when people intrude on my privacy."

"Boy, thanks…" I mumble, weighing my fault down that much more.

"No, not like that… when I say people, I mean everyone else but you," he says, withdrawing his face and looking straight at mine.

"Why didn't you ever tell me you were a reincarnated Mozart?" I honestly ask, hurt that he has never told me this before.

"I was keeping it secret," Aang admits.

"Why?" I again ask.

"I wasn't done practicing…" He blushes a deep violet and avoids my gaze, pointing his bare toes inward and rubbing the back of his neck.

"Practicing for what?" I feel so bothersome asking all these questions.

"Practicing for you…" He practically whispers, obviously embarrassed at disclosing his secret.

I pause in a mix of flattery and confusion.

"I was going to give you a totally private concert of all of these songs I've been playing. The piano was considered an extremely romantic instrument in the Southern Air Temple where I learned all of this, and… well…"

My eyebrow raises in curiosity and amusement, taking in every bit of this goofy, romantic boy.

"I was going to play you a love song that Gyatso taught me. And then… tell you… uh…" He sheepishly becomes lost for words.

"I love you too, Aang," I say, trying to save him the trouble of digging himself deeper into his pit of embarrassment.

His eyes widen with gratitude and a huge grin takes over his face, and he hugs me around the waist with such might. I suddenly know what it is like to be truly and fully loved by the person you adore, and his all-powerful spirit suddenly fills with love and spills out to me.

He slightly loosens his grip around me, removes his chin from my shoulder, and touches his forehead to mine, staring directly into my eyes – into my heart.

He moves in and tenderly places a small kiss on my lips. Keeping his eyes locked on mine, he whispered with a sultry tone: "I was actually just going to say that I really did eat the last of the leechee nuts. It wasn't Momo." A smile quickly creeps onto his face, easily touching his ears.

I pretend to look hurt. His smile immediately disappears and he pulls me back into the hug. I fake a few crying noises and I can feel his body tensing back up with anguish. "It was only a joke, Katara… I really was going to say I love you. Because I do. I love you so much."

Bingo.

I sniffled one last time and pulled back. "Sucker," I whispered.

I now run away from him, knowing he is going to catch me anyway. There is never a point in running from an Airbender, much less the Avatar. Once he does, he picks me up under the knees and around the shoulders and carries me to the piano bench. Setting me down, he sits down himself and begins another piece.

"This is the song Gyatso taught me," he mutters, half to himself and half to me. "It doesn't have a name… but Gyatso always called it 'Her Song'."

His fingers fly gracefully over the instrument, creating such a beautiful refrain.

He coaxes his eyes barely closed, and plays magic for me.


End file.
